Banished to the Harem

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I became involved when you asked that I do not call the police,’ Rakhal said, and then he looked at her pale features, and the unshed tears in her eyes, and in an unguarded moment he spoke from his heart. ‘And you are my concern.’ She was.

  Whatever had taken place today would not end as he had first planned. He knew that this was more than one of his regular one-night stands—knew that even when he flew to the desert on Monday, even when he married, still she would be on his mind.

  Still he would take care of her.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Natasha said.

  Rakhal doubted that it was, but he said nothing. Instead he let her talk.

  ‘My brother was supposed to get married six months ago.’ She hated talking about family things—her parents had always been so private and she was too. You dealt with things without asking for help; that was the way she had been brought up. Yet her brother didn’t seem to have inherited the same resilience. ‘A week before the wedding his fiancée, Louise, called it off.’

  Still Rakhal said nothing, simply let her speak.

  ‘Since then he’s been going off the rails. When my parents died the family home was sold … that’s when I bought my house—well, some of it. I have a mortgage …’ Natasha said, uncomfortable discussing money with a man who clearly had so much of it. She was worried that he’d think she was asking for his help.

  But he gave her a nod, told her to go on. And she wasn’t exactly volunteering the information—his silence was dragging it out of her.

  ‘But after he and Louise broke up Mark just burnt his money.’

  ‘Burnt?’ Rakhal frowned.

  ‘Not literally,’ she answered. ‘He started gambling, bought a flash car … He owes a lot of people money. A couple of months ago I took out a loan for him. I was able to get one because I had the house …’

  ‘Is he repaying the loan?’

  ‘He was—but not this month.’

  ‘One moment.’ His phone was ringing. He glanced at it before answering, then took the call.

  Natasha sat there as he spoke in his language, and it gave her a pause. She was embarrassed and angry that her one perfect night had turned out like this—that yet again Mark had spectacularly ruined things. She was embarrassed, too, at all she had told Rakhal, and Natasha wanted out.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home,’ Natasha said. ‘Look, thank you for a lovely evening. I really am sorry about how it turned out.’

  ‘You’re not going home.’

  She gave a tight smile—she certainly didn’t need this.

  ‘I’ll be fine …’

  ‘Natasha, that call was from my aide. Your brother has just gone to your home. It would seem he is a very angry man. He’s looking for some jewels. He says that they are his …’

  She knew that that was what he had been looking for—the pearls she was wearing tonight—that Mark would insist she put them down as stolen on her insurance claim and, worse than that, in her heart she knew that had she not been wearing them he would have sold them. He would have sold them and then had her claim the insurance money. She was simply too drained to cry, too exhausted to think.

  ‘You must rest,’ Rakhal said. ‘I will ring and book you a suite.’

  ‘I don’t need a suite,’ Natasha said. ‘The sofa will be fine.’

  ‘My guests do not sleep on a sofa.’ He was in no mood to argue, and neither was he that much of a gentleman. ‘And neither do I.’

  ‘Please, don’t …’ She ran a worried hand over her forehead. It seemed stupid but she did not want to be alone—and if that was the price … She recalled his kiss, the bliss she had found in his arms, and knew it was a price she was only too willing to pay.

  But Rakhal did not like to win by default. And then he saw her jump as her phone rang, saw tension tighten her features as she took the call.

  ‘That’s not your concern, Mark.’ She screwed her eyes closed. ‘There isn’t much missing … I’ll decide if I speak to the police.’

  ‘Turn off the phone,’ Rakhal instructed. He was worried for her. Her brother was out of control now that his plan was not working. ‘You did not tell him where you are?’ Rakhal checked.

  ‘I just told him I had booked into a hotel. He’d never guess it’s this one…’

  Rakhal wasn’t taking any chances. ‘You will stay here tonight.’ There was another bedroom in his luxurious suite and he showed it to her. ‘A bath has been run for me but you are to take it. You need some time to wind down. I will have a shower first …’

  Natasha sat in the lounge as he showered, touched that he had not pressed her in any way, had not taken her in his arms to comfort her, for she knew very well how it could have turned out. She was terribly glad that he had been there—tried not to picture how tonight might have been had she not met Rakhal.

  ‘I am done.’

  He walked into the lounge, a white towel around his hips, and she saw the snake of hair she had glimpsed that morning, the bruises on his shoulder from his battle with the police and the aggrieved husband. His skin was wet, his hair was too, and in the middle of one of the worst nights she glimpsed the possibility of the best night of her life. Her throat was tight as she looked at him and, though touched at his thoughtfulness, that he had not pressed, a part of her rued it too.

  ‘I am going to bed,’ Rakhal said, for he could feel the change in her tension, could see the need for escape in her eyes, and he too was remembering their kiss. But he would keep his word to himself. ‘You take your time. Tonight this is your home.’

  She let out a breath as he closed the bedroom door, then headed to the bathroom and undressed. She should be in tears, or scared or something, but she looked in the mirror and saw lust in her eyes, and she was so very aware that he was near.

  Natasha had thought that, given it had been run a while ago, the bath would be cool when finally she stepped into it, but of course it was scented and warm, for she was in his world now … and she wanted his bed.

  Rakhal wanted her too. He lay awake and tried not to think of her bathing. There was no question of sleeping. He was more than used to a woman in his suite—just not in the spare room. He listened to the gurgle as the water drained, and tried and failed not to picture her climbing out. He was hard beneath the sheet but he resisted, lay there liking the rare feeling of unsated arousal, savouring his restraint, anticipating the reward—because tomorrow he knew she’d be his.

  He did not regret his earlier choice of words to her.

  She was his concern now.

  Except on Monday he must return to his land and time was fast running out. He thought of the harem, but perhaps she would not be receptive to that suggestion, and he thought too about keeping her as a mistress in London. It was an intensely pleasurable thought; he would grant her the gold stamp in her passport that would give her full privileges, would enable her to visit him freely. When he heard her pad past his door he had to bite on his lip so as not to summon her in and share the news.

  He had promised himself tomorrow.

  A prince did not break a vow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NATASHA was awoken by the sound of silence—only then did she realise the full extent of the usual background noise of a hotel. The heating whirred and then stilled; the alarm clock stopped ticking; the darkness blackened further. Natasha sat up, taking a moment to remember where she was and all that had happened. She tried the light at her bedside but it wasn’t working, and then patted the end of the bed. She found the thick bathrobe, still damp from her bathing. Pulling it on, she made her way out of bed, her hands in front of her to find the window, but even as she parted the blinds there was nothing to see: the streetlights and neon signs were all out.

  ‘It’s a power cut.’ Rakhal had been awake anyway, and he spoke as soon as she opened her bedroom door. ‘The back-up generator should kick in soon …’

  It was darker than she had ever known it, and she was grateful when he crossed the roo
m. Then she felt awkward as she put her hand up to him and encountered skin.

  ‘Sorry.’ Even though it begged to linger she pulled her hand away, and despite the dark she was sure he was smiling at her nervousness.

  But Rakhal was not smiling. His eyes were long accustomed to the dark and he could see the parting of her lips. He was resisting the urge to kiss her, for all night the kiss they had shared had been driving him wild.

  He could smell her, and it was different—for the bath had been prepared for him, and her feminine scent now mingled with the exotic oils of the desert. He wanted to take her, wanted to stay in the darkness and simply give in. And he could, Rakhal realised, for it was tomorrow now—midnight had long since gone. So he lowered his head and brushed her lips. She jerked her head just a bit, and then he found her mouth again.

  Just a dust of his lips was all he gave her, and then again, and then once more. It was a different kiss, a tease of a kiss, because this time it was Rakhal who pulled his lips back just a little, till her hungry mouth searched for his.

  And still his mouth stayed gentle. It was Natasha’s lips that were insistent. But he did not return the pressure till her mouth was almost begging, raining kisses on lips that stayed loose, and then he relented, gave her the bliss of his tongue and a mouth that was slow and measured. He made sure she was frantic for his soothing and then, without warning, without even subtly checking, his hand slipped into her dressing gown and caressed a nipple that was hard and waiting. He slid his palm over the soft skin till it was essential that his other hand held her or she might sink to the floor.

  But he did not hold her.

  He let her become dizzy and weak, he let his towel fall, and she let her robe open so his manhood rested on her stomach. Her lips were on his shoulder now, she was leaning on him as if to regroup, but he did not let her; he kissed her ear to blot out the whispers of doubt that chained her and licked at the tender flesh beneath her lobe till she moaned on his shoulder. Her hand moved to explore what would soon be inside her. He kissed her neck and tasted the pearls, kissed the pulse that thrummed against his lips. Her unskilled fingers felt sublime as he moved his hand to slide beneath her waist, and he inwardly cursed at a knock at the door.

  He ached with regret as he tied her belt and then picked up his towel, and she stood blushing and burning and wanting as he let in a frantic butler, loaded with candles and eager to ensure that their most esteemed guest was all right, explaining that the whole of London had been blacked out.

  Rakhal was annoyed at the intrusion, though in the circumstance it was to be expected, and at least, he conceded, when they were alone again he’d get to start all over with Natasha and he did like her kisses. Also, the lounge room was not the most convenient of locations. He would have had to interrupt her anyway to take her to his room so that he could sheathe.

  ‘Let us look at the view,’ Rakhal suggested, for he could certainly do with some fresh air while the butler set up candles around the suite.

  ‘What view?’ Natasha asked, because all of London had been plunged into darkness. There were just a few cars on the road giving out light, a few people stepping onto the street to see what had happened. It was surreal, for it was more dark than she could ever have imagined.

  ‘This view,’ Rakhal said—and then she looked up.

  The sky was a blaze of stars. The more she looked the more she saw—a swirl of masses that moved and glittered—and there were purples and blues, and the majesty of the sky she lived under was only now revealed.

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘It is nothing compared to the desert,’ Rakhal said, but it was an amazing sight indeed—though his eyes had turned to her now, and he could see the white robe, could see the glitter in her eyes.

  He wanted to show her the stars in the desert. He told her a little about it—that the roof of his desert abode was pulled back at night so he could sleep under the stars, as did true desert people. Not every night, he told her, but on nights when he needed to think …

  And he told her a little of the land that was beautiful. He told her ear, for her body was now against him as they revisited their kiss. Except the pause had Natasha thinking—had her knowing that she needed to be brave, that there was something he needed to hear. She was embarrassed at the thought of his reaction.

  ‘Rakhal …’ She pulled back from his kiss. ‘I need to tell you something …’

  ‘You don’t.’

  He knew already.

  ‘I was in a relationship …’ He frowned but she could not see it. ‘The thing is….’ She burnt as she said it. Yes, she respected morals, but in this she had been hurt. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone before—he wanted to wait till we were married …’

  He felt her skin burning beneath his fingers and the answer for Rakhal was simple.

  ‘Then he should have married you.’

  And Natasha had thought the same—not that she had wanted marriage to him, more that she had wanted his desire. Had wanted him not to be able to resist her. Had wanted an ardour that simply hadn’t been there.

  But it was here now.

  ‘I know we come from different worlds …’ She was being brave again. ‘I’m not expecting …’ It was terribly awkward to say to a man she had known only for one day, but Rakhal said it for her.

  ‘I will marry someone from my land.’ Rakhal was not awkward about discussing such things. ‘But for now I can adore you.’

  And he would adore her later too, he decided, for she would be his mistress. But he would not dazzle her, would not confuse her. He would tell her gently of his ways, for he was determined to keep her.

  ‘Tonight we get to know each other, and if you are still sure in the morning …’

  She was sure already.

  They moved into his bedroom and he pulled back every curtain and opened all the windows. The air blew out the candles beside them until only those at the far end of the room remained. Their light lit the bed a little. He made no apology for the temperature; instead he peeled off her robe and led her to his bed.

  And she shivered—but not from the cold—as he kissed her, and after a night spent tossing and turning it was a relief to lie down naked next to him.

  He was so broad and so male. Her only regret was that she could not see him properly. But her hands searched him instead—the chest and the shoulders and the stomach that had teased.

  His hands caressed her too as he spoke.

  She wanted to know about him, wanted to know more of his mysterious ways, and even if the conversation seemed a strange one to be having as they touched each other’s bodies there was a need to understand him, to learn all she could while she could, for she knew it would not be for ever.

  They were facing each other, talking between kisses, his thigh over hers and his hand in her hair. His mouth was at her neck and then down at her breast, and how lucky was his future bride, to have this every night, Natasha thought as his lips nuzzled her skin. And maybe she said it, for somewhere deep in the darkness he told her he would be with his wife for just two nights a month.

  ‘You’ll only sleep together two times?’

  Rakhal laughed, but it was more a low growl as he lifted his mouth from her breast. ‘Much more than two times,’ he explained, for he wanted her to learn his ways, wanted her back in Alzirz with him—which meant she needed a little of the truth. ‘For two days and nights we will be together …’

  ‘And then?’ She could hardly breathe. His mouth was suckling at her breast, and she almost did not want him to answer for the feeling was sublime, but he lifted his lips and blew cold air onto her wet flesh before speaking.

  ‘She will be taken away and hennaed, and then she will rest as we wait to see.’

  ‘And then?’

  His hand was on her stomach, moving towards her intimate curls. ‘If there is no pregnancy she returns again when she is fertile.’

  ‘You will hope she is pregnant, then?’ Natasha said, for she would want to be
back in his bed. ‘So you can see each other again?’

  ‘No,’ he corrected. ‘If she is pregnant then I do not see her till after the birth.’

  ‘But …’

  She could not understand, but he did try to explain. ‘She will rest and be pampered.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d rather be with you,’ Natasha said, ‘and you with her.’ She blinked at the impossibility of it—to be married and kept apart. ‘So you’d go for months …’ she was more than a little embarrassed to voice it ‘.without …?’

  ‘Without seeing her,’ he confirmed.

  ‘I meant …’ She swallowed, for his hand was moving to her thigh now. ‘Without sleeping together …’ His warm fingers were between her thighs. ‘Without sex …’

  ‘Of course not.’ His mouth was back at her breast, his tongue stroking it to an aching peak. ‘I have my harem.’

  She opened her eyes, went to push his hand away from where it was gently probing, for the thought of a harem was almost repugnant—and yet her eyes met the stars and her mind was split open. There was a tightening very low in her stomach and she wanted to hear, was strangely turned on by his ways, by the impossible ways she did not understand yet wanted to hear about.

  ‘Tell me,’ she breathed, closing her eyes to the moment.

  He had felt her tense, had inwardly kicked himself for saying it too soon—for in this land his ways were not understood. But time was of the essence. One night with Natasha would not suffice, so he had to tell her more truths.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said again as his fingers parted her moist butterfly. ‘Won’t your wife mind …?’

  ‘She will be relieved,’ Rakhal said. ‘For she will not be troubled with my needs.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I will sleep only with my wife unsheathed,’ Rakhal explained as his fingers slipped inside her warmth, ‘and I will do this only with her … it is only she I will make come … Otherwise it would be considered unfaithful.’

  There was strange honour to his ways.